Sigma
by Commanderkk
Summary: Meet Sigma: A Drell mercenary, raised in a lab and bred to be a trained killer. He lives on Omega, taking odd jobs for the highest bidder, usually taking down villainous criminals. This is his first story, where he is hired to kill members of the Eclipse Mercenary syndicate.


Mass effect: SIGMA  
By Commander KK

I was born here. My earliest memories date back to god knows how long ago, it feels like centuries but I know it couldn't have been that long. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I know one thing for certain, the only thing I am certain about: I am Sigma. That is my given name. I do not know what it means, or where it comes from, but I know that it was given to me by them and that is all that matters. They are all I really remember. People in lab coats, working at machines, taking notes.

Let me tell you something. I wasn't born, like most normal people. I was grown from a single, perfect cell in a flask and placed in a tank filled with some sort of solution. Genetic manipulation, cyber-augmentation, Nano machines, all sorts of clandestine things…I have been through them all. All in the means of what, might you wonder? How would I know? I have been asking the very same questions from birth. Why the men in the coats injected me with so many chemicals, why the first thing I was taught to do was handle a sniper rifle, why I lie awake, day and night, in my glass prison, drifting in and out of conciseness seemingly against my will pondering who I am. Who am I? Who? That is a question I feel will never be answered. But I can say what I am: I am a drell clone, number 050728 designation Sigma. I know because I hear the men outside the tank talking about it. They use such…fascinating terms. Perhaps one day I could speak like that? Yes, that would be nice. To sound so intelligent. What a nice word that is, intelligent.

Two days have passed. They ran more tests. I was injected with more things, trained to do things, violent things, trained to accurately fire a bolt-action sniper rifle, or a handgun, or an assault rifle, or any combination of weapons, really. I like the snipers. So elegant yet deadly. Truly an excellent weapon.

Two more days have gone by. I have become fed up with my surroundings. Life in this tank…it annoys me. I just feel like I could accomplish more, like I'm destined for greatness. Like I need something more out of this life than hollow walls and the men in coats and the machines and guns and the glass prison. So angry. So very angry….

Dear god, I don't know what happened. One minute, in the tank, the next, I smash through the tank like nothing. I stole a gun, some clothes…I can't even remember what happened to the coat men. I think I killed them…I didn't even know I would. Everything happened so fast. I should never have left the safety of my tank. I should have never even thought about it. At least, that's what part of me thinks. Another part of me knows this is the right thing.

For the first time in my life, I can see light. Not much, but still, natural light. I look up at the clouds, raise a fist to the air, and yell as loud as I can. At last, I am free. I am Sigma, and I am a free man!

Fast forward a few years…

It wasn't easy, but I made it away from that horrible place. I now live a decent life, here in this place. They call it Omega. It has a dark criminal underbelly, the people aren't particularly friendly and life is a challenge, but I manage. Besides, a place like this is perfect for someone of my set of skills. My gun is practically my best and sometimes my only friend. I have put the skills taught to me by the coat men to good use, working as a bounty hunter, fighting and killing for the highest bidder.

I stumble in the door of my apartment, heavily intoxicated from a night of drinking. One of the ways I spend my free time, of course. I throw my trench coat on the floor. I sluggishly move towards my bed. I slump down, and black out, sleepy as all hell and in need of a rest.

I awake next morning with a groan. Slightly hungover, I prep some food. Getting dressed for the day, I put on my ragged old shirt and pants, my trench coat, and my hood. I sling my rifle over my shoulder, grab the food and drag myself out the door.

As I stepped out into the streets of Omega, I wondered what contract I would take today. There's always work for a mercenary freelancer around here, because in a world rife with criminal syndicates and people causing trouble, someone is gonna want someone dead.

I wander down the street. The marketplace is bustling with customers today, buying all their assorted trinkets. Me, all I need is the clothes on my back, my rifle, and food. Nothing more. That was what I was taught back in the tank. Basic survival is the best survival, I'd say.

I continue in my wanderings. Down the street, I see a shady looking man in an alleyway. Ah, nothing abnormal about that. People like him are the common denominator, I'd say. I walk on by, not wanting to be noticed. I might drink, even smoke sometimes, but I don't do drugs. People like this shady guy, they're usually either muggers or drug dealers, and if this punk was going to mug me, he would have hidden himself so he could get the jump on me. Not a good idea, considering I'm the one with the fully loaded Mantis Mk6 rifle, which can reduce a man's skull to chutney with a single blow, but let's just say that a genetically-altered drell mercenary is not someone who you would mug and live to gloat about it. I've snapped many muggers' necks in my time, what's one more in the big picture? Nothing! Anyway, I keep walikng down the street. As I get to the alleyway, the man approaches me. I thought he was going to put a gun in my face or offer my some synthetic hallucinogen, but he didn't. instead, he said:

"Psst. Hey. You're the guy they call Sigma, right?"

Wow, I must be pretty famous.  
I turn to face the man.

"Who wants to know?" I ask.  
"Listen, I have some work. I hear you've done jobs for the Blue suns, a real tough guy, you are. You lookin' for some work?"

Well, looks like I've gotten myself a job. Or rather, have one POSSIBLE job. I need to know what I'm doing.

"I want details. How much are you paying me? Who do I make disappear?"

"Let's just say that I am an associate of someone important here on Omega. We need a certain, how shall we say, troublesome individual taken down. He's from the Eclipse gang. Salarian. He's hindering our business. As to what our business is, heh heh heh….that's my little secret. Just kill this guy. We will pay you handsomely. Guaranteed"

"Guaranteed…?"

"You have my word, Mr. Sigma."

"Fine. I'll do it. Tell me where I can find him."

"We see him creeping around in the lower levels with his team, looking for a fight. I hope you're bringing a gun."

"I never go anywhere without my gun."

"Good, good. Come find me when the deed is done."

"As you wish."

Ah, Salarians. So pious and intelligent. So very arrogant. Reminds me of one time a few months back. Somebody wanted me dead. They sent a freelancer assassin after me. Salarian. I slit his throat with his own damn knife. Talk about irony. This new job should be a breeze.

As I arrived at the lower levels, I asked around about a Salarian Eclipse merc in the area. I was led right to him. I found him and two of his grunts, one human and one batarian (batarians in Eclipse? Weird) skulking around. I saw them lure an innocent into an alleyway, gang beat him, and loot his money. All the more reason to take him down. I reach for my rifle and zoom in the scope. I focus my crosshairs on the salarian's head. Without a second thought, I pull the trigger.

Blam! The salarian is dead. Now to worry about his little cohorts. I wait for them to move in. Then, as they approach my hiding place, I grab the human by the arm, break it, take his pistol and shoot him in the chest twice. I fire one round at the batarian's face. Direct hit.

Here's to another job well done.


End file.
